


Left Out

by jesse_panic



Category: Silent Hill, Silent Hill 2 - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Extended Scene, Other, Suicide Attempt, Trigger: implied abuse, Trigger: murder mentioned, Trigger: terminal illness mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesse_panic/pseuds/jesse_panic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James meets Angela on the staircase of the Lakeview Hotel, but something compels him to stay. Can he save her, or will he let her burn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Out

**Author's Note:**

> Easily the hardest thing to write about this fic was the actual game dialogue. Their deliberately disconnected/ non-sequitorial way of speaking can easily look like bad writing without full context. I hope it doesn't... anyway, this fic resolves an issue I had with James' actions in this scene in this otherwise brilliant game.

The flesh-covered figure scuttled away, twitching at its gunshot-wounds. James didn’t stop to see where it went; he wasn’t afraid of them anymore. He had to get through the Lakeview Hotel, he had to end this.

Rounding the corner of yet another sodden, mildew-choked corridor at full pelt, James looked up to take in his surroundings and stopped dead. He was at the end of the staircase, which was not damp and molding like the rest of the hotel, but dry and peeling. On it were large twin paintings of a naked figure covered in (what James hoped was) a thick, blubbery plastic. The entire staircase, and the landing above it, was ablaze, and rippling gently in the heat. And in the middle of the staircase, almost completely encircled by the flames, was Angela. She seemed transfixed by one of the pictures, so much so she did not notice James. He approached her gingerly, barely mindful of the flames licking the wall by his arm. He stopped a few steps away from her (but close enough for her to see him out of the corner of her eye) remembering her reactions to him when he got too close. He didn’t speak; he didn’t want to startle her. Slowly, she turned to him, and- much to his surprise- her face lit up.

“Mama!” she cried.

For a second, James froze. Perhaps, behind him… no, she was looking right at him, into his eyes. He felt his heart twinge with shame over something he couldn’t control. Slowly, he shook his head, but Angela was beaming, her arms open and extended to him. “Mama, I was looking for you. You’re the only one left.”

Still, James backed away. Right now, he didn’t feel he had the strength to correct her, it would hurt too much.

Angela continued to advance on him, containing her excitement now by balling her fists at her sides. “Maybe then…” she glanced over her shoulder, as if afraid of the painting, “Maybe then I can finally rest.”

James tried to speak, but words failed him. His emotions were drained as it was, and now… he couldn’t deal with this. All he could do was continue backing away.

A shadow of doubt flickered across Angela’s face. “Mama,” she said, with the frustration of an ignored child, but the desperation of someone much older, “Why are you running away?!” And at that she sped up, advancing on James faster than he could retreat, and cupped his face with her hands, letting out a gasp of joy. James barely breathed, his stomach twisting with guilt as the giddy happiness in her eyes changed abruptly to horror and her once-smiling mouth let out a small scream. She drew away, angry and self-conscious once more.

“You’re not my mama!” she yelled at James, drawing one hand protectively to her chest as she backed away. “It’s… it’s you!” she twisted away from James, covering her face with her hands, dabbing at it in disoriented confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she stammered, sounding close to tears. She looked as if she was about to turn away and walk further into the flames. 

“Angela, no!” In spite of himself, James reached out as if to touch her arm, and take her back down the stairs himself. The look on her face made him think better of it, but for a moment, his fingers hovered gingerly by the crook of her arm, before he brought them back to his side. They regarded each other carefully in the stillness, James silently begging for her not to turn and run. Angela turned to look over her shoulder, then back at James, then over her shoulder again, before finally making up her mind with a little shake of her head.

Looking at her feet, she addressed him, her voice softer and more melancholic. “Thank you for saving me,” she murmured flatly, “But, I wish you… hadn’t.” she tried to hide the crack in her voice, but he heard. “Even Mama said it; I deserved what happened.”

Before she could even finish speaking, James was shaking his head, correcting her. “No Angela, that’s wrong—” but she turned away so abruptly James stopped for fear of losing her completely.

Angela swayed from side-to-side, as if tired, before turning back to James and raising her palms gently to shush him. “No, don’t pity me… I’m not worth it.”

James choked on the words he wanted to say, but as he was about to speak, Angela turned back to him, a dark scowl on her face.

“Or maybe… you think you can save me.” Now her voice dripped with bitterness as she fixed James with a look of pure disgust. “Will you love me? Take care of me? Heal all my pain?” she stared into James’ eyes. James, unsure how to answer her, twisted on the spot; looking past her, taking a step back. This seemed to confirm things for her. She snorted scornfully. “That’s what I thought.”

James wanted to correct her, wanted to tell her that that wasn’t true, but he stopped himself. He didn’t know what he thought, but he knew he couldn’t take care of her. He couldn’t take care of anyone; not even Mary. He was useless, pathetic, evil… a failure. He couldn’t help Angela even if he tried, so he stared at the ground, unable to do anything but mutely agree through his inaction, hating himself for it.

“James,” Angela’s voice was suddenly strong and commanding, as if she were finally sure of herself, “Give me back that knife.”

James looked at her standing above him, calm and collected, one unwavering hand extended towards him, a peaceful sort of anger on her face. He might not be able to help her, but he couldn’t let her do it. He shook his head. “No,” he said uncertainly, “I… I won’t.”

Angela didn’t get upset or impatient, but frowned at him, placing her hands on her hips. “Saving it for yourself?” she inquired, her tone almost daring.

Instinctively, James drew a hand to his chest. “Me? No, I’d never kill myself.” At his words, Angela seemed to finally break away, and turned, beginning to walk into the flames.

But James barely registered his surroundings, for he suddenly felt a stillness in the turmoil of his mind. In that moment, he knew he wasn’t going to commit suicide. He hadn’t been thinking about how to answer her, but that had just come naturally. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to live. Losing Mary, no, killing Mary- he couldn’t hide from that anymore- was agony, and he deserved his punishment; but he wanted a life after. But what was he going to do? Find someone else? No, it was too soon, too raw; and this place had made him beyond repulsed by his own baser urges anyway. No, maybe later, much later, he would try to find someone else, but right now he didn’t think he could. He owed Mary that much, at least. Then what was he going to do: travel? On his salary? Go back to his life before Mary? Definitely not, it felt selfish and wrong to want to build a life around just his needs after all this.

He sighed: he was incomplete without Mary. They had had such plans for the future… she had had such plans. He felt a pang of guilt at being unaware of her desire to adopt Laura, but at the same time he was so proud of her for it. That was Mary all over, or who she had been before that disease had twisted her; kind, generous, and always willing to put others before herself. Now he realised she must have been like that even during the final days of her life, and it must have only been him that brought out the worst in her. He stopped to consider that for a moment. In spite of all her pain, her fears, and the crushing weight of the future; Mary had found it within herself to reach out to someone whose needs were greater than hers and love them as if they were her own family. He sighed. He wished he was that strong. Laura still needed a home, and he couldn’t—

At that moment, he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. A sleeve- the edge of a sleeve, so light it almost disappeared in the flames- travelling quickly and lightly up the stairs, as if attached to a person running out of haste rather than fear. It was light pink, and made of thin wool. Mary’s sleeve. James watched, mystified as it, and the shoulders of her cardigan, reached the top of the stairs, and seemed to turn to look at him. James thought he could make out the haze of a face and neck above them, but he wasn’t sure. He was about to call out to- whatever it was- when it promptly turned away from him and hurried back down the stairs. It stopped at Angela, and the gauze silhouette of a person inside the fabric hovered by her, moving its soft cloth arms around her shoulders, despite the fact that Angela evidently couldn’t see or feel it, for she continued her slow march to the top.

But James saw it, and James finally understood. “Angela!” he called through the flames, “Angela, wait!”

“Why?” came the bitter response. “You can’t save me, so why are you trying to stop me? Just… go away, it’ll be better for both of us.”

James hesitated for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The fire had now completely engulfed the step Angela had previously been standing on, cutting them off. But maybe that was the point. James thought long and hard about the town, about what was real and what wasn’t. And besides, if he didn’t try now, he’d only regret it later. “Angela,” he called over the top of the flames, “I am not going to leave here without you.” And with that, he made a haphazard dash through the flames, halting at the step below her. He was unharmed, and the fire seemed to subside marginally.

Angela stared at him in disbelief. “What… what are you doing?!” she asked anxiously, edging further along her step.

James remained where he was, raising his palms in a friendly gesture. “Angela,” he paused then, not sure how to say what he meant, “… My wife, Mary, was a very… she wanted to…” Angela was giving him a look you would give a lunatic so he started over, “I… I want to help you, Angela.”

Instinctively, Angela drew back. “Wh- what do you mean?”

“I mean, I can give you someplace to go, someplace safe. I’m not perfect, hell, I was drawn here too, I did something terrible… but… I want to turn that around, and I want to help you. My wife is dead- and it’s because of me- but she was a great person, and she believed in helping others. I can’t promise you the perfect life, but I can promise I’ll always try to take care of you.

“There’s a little girl here in Silent Hill that my wife was planning to adopt, and I want to carry out her wishes, but I was also thinking, maybe you’d—” Angela look shocked, “N-not necessarily adoption,” James added hastily, “but maybe, a guardian and a place to go, whatever you’re comfortable with.” James watched her nervously as he finished.

Angela was silent for a few moments, standing on the step barely moving, eyes unfocused, seemingly deep in thought. Eventually, she seemed to decide something, and folded her arms. She looked down as she spoke. “Do you mean the little fair-haired girl with the ponytail?”

“Yes.” said James.

“I saw her playing outside the hotel about ten minutes ago, she’s probably still there. If we go now we could find her and then… leave?” she said it sheepishly, as if afraid James might suddenly change his mind.

“Yeah, her name’s Laura.” said James, thinking for a moment, “But, I don’t think I can leave yet, there’s something I’ve got to do. I can’t really explain it, but—”

“I understand.” said Angela, “It’s the town; it makes you face it instead of run.”

“Yeah…” said James. There was a silence between them, but not an awkward one. “After we find Laura, I think I need to go back to the hotel. Alone. But… I’ll come back, I swear.”

“Okay.” said Angela quietly. She fidgeted on the spot, indicating that they should leave.

James hadn’t realised that the flames had faded to embers during their conversation, or that the half-Mary manifestation had disappeared at some point without him noticing. Together, they made it through the hotel corridors, making short work of the few creatures they encounter with the various weapons each had on their person, before finding Laura outside, who screamed at James until James showed her Mary’s final letter to him, and Angela explained their plan. Laura seemed to like Angela much more than James, and seemed perfectly happy to stay with her as James entered the dark musty corridors for the last time.

*  
As the sun rose somewhere behind a think bank of clouds, three figures trotted through the cemetery on the way to the abandoned sedan by the observation deck. Striding ahead, a little girl marches through the graveyard, stopping to read some of the names, occasionally turning back to chastise the others’ languid pace. A few feet behind her, a man in a thick green jacket watches her with a mixture of amusement and concern, mindful he doesn’t lose sight of her in the fog. A few steps behind him, arms wrapped around her shoulders against the morning cold, a teenage girl follows on. She seems nervous, and sometimes hovers closer to the other two and sometimes farther away, as if unsure of how much she should join in. But the little girl still calls after her, and the man continually glances over his shoulder, determined not to lose her to the fog.


End file.
